Kensington Rhymes by Compton Mackenzie

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Title: Kensington Rhymes

Author: Compton Mackenzie

Illustrator: J.R. Monsell

Release Date: March 13, 2012 [EBook #39128]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1

*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK KENSINGTON RHYMES ***

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KENSINGTON RHYMES

THE PUNCH AND JUDY SHOW

THE PUNCH AND JUDY SHOW

K E N S I N G T O N
R H Y M E S

BY COMPTON MACKENZIE

ILLUSTRATED BY J. R. MONSELL

LONDON: MARTIN SECKER

NUMBER FIVE JOHN STREET ADELPHI

First published 1912

PRINTED BY

BALLANTYNE & COMPANY LTD

AT THE BALLANTYNE PRESS

TAVISTOCK STREET COVENT GARDEN

LONDON

TO

ETHEL LONG

CONTENTS

PAGE

OUR HOUSE
11

OUR SQUARE
15

THE DANCING CLASS
17

MY SISTER AT A PARTY
22

KISSING GAMES
26

A BALLAD OF THE ROUND POND 28
TOWN AND COUNTRY
35

POOR LAVENDER GIRLS
37

SUMMER HOLIDAYS
39

THE UNPLEASANT MOON
42

SUGGESTIONS ABOUT SLEEP
44

THE RARE BURGLAR
47

THE GERMAN BAND
49

THE DECEITFUL RAT-TAT
53

THE CAGE IN THE PILLAR BOX
54

THE FORTUNATE COALMEN
57

THE PAVEMENT ARTIST
60

SWEEPS
63

GREENGROCERS
65

CHRISTMAS NOT FAR OFF
66

THE DISAPPOINTMENT
67

TREASURE TROVE
68

A VISIT TO MY AUNT
73

DON QUIXOTE
77

THE WET DAY
84

LAST WORDS
87

KENSINGTON RHYMES

OUR HOUSE

OUR house is very high and red,

The steps are very white,

The balcony is full of flowers,

The knocker's very bright.

The hall has got a coloured lamp,

A rack for father's hat,

And pegs for coats: a curious word[A]

Is printed on the mat.

The kitchen ticks too loud at night,

It is a horrid place;

Black-beetles run about the floor

At a most dreadful pace.

The cellar is quite black with coal,

The cat goes scratching there;

People go tramping past above,

But nobody knows where.

The dining-room has rosy walls,

And silver knives and forks,

And when I listen at the door,

I hear the popping corks.

The library smells like new boots,

It is a woolly room;

The housemaid comes at eight o'clock

And sweeps it with a broom.

The staircase has a thousand rods

That rattle if you kick,

And when the twilight makes it blue

I rush up very quick.

The landing is a dismal place,

The bannisters creak so,

The door-knobs twinkle horribly,

The gas is always low.

The drawing-room is cold and white,

The chairs have crooked legs;

Silk ladies rustle in and out

While Fido sits and begs.

The bathroom is a trickling room,

And always smells of paint,

The cupboard's full of medicine

For fever, cold or faint.

My bedroom is a brassy room

With pictures on the wall:

It's rather full of nurse's clothes

But then my own are small.

Our house is very high and red,

The steps are very white,

The balcony is full of flowers,

The knocker's very bright.

OUR SQUARE

OUR square is really most select,

Infectious children, dogs and cats

Are not allowed to come inside,

Nor any people from the flats.

I have a sweetheart in the square,

I bring her pebbles that I find,

And curious shapes in mould, and sticks,

And kiss her when she does not mind.

She wears a dress of crackling white,

A shiny sash of pink or blue,

And over these a pinafore,

And she comes out at half-past two.

Her legs are tall and thin and black,

Her eyes are very large and brown,

And as she walks along the paths,

Her frock moves slowly up and down.

We all have sweethearts in our square,

And when the winter comes again,

We shall go to the dancing-class

And watch them walking through the rain.

Nobody knows what SALVE means
[A]

THE DANCING CLASS

THE DANCING CLASS

THE DANCING CLASS

EACH week on Friday night at six

Our dancing-class begins:

Two ladies dressed in white appear

And play two violins.

It's really meant for boys at school,

But girls can also come,

And when you walk inside the room

You hear a pleasant hum.

The older boys wear Eton suits,

The younger boys white tops;

We stand together in a row

And practise curious hops.

The dancing-master shows the step

With many a puff and grunt;

He has a red silk handkerchief

Stuck grandly in his front.

He's awfully excitable,

His wrists are very strong,

He drags you up and down the room

Whenever you go wrong.

And when you're going very wrong,

The girls begin to laugh;

And when you're pushed back in your place,

The boys turn round and chaff.

We've learnt the polka and the waltz,

We've got the ladies' chain;

Although he says our final bows

Give him enormous pain.

The floor is very slippery,

It's difficult to walk

From one end to the other end

Unless you sort of stalk.

And when the steps have all been done,

He takes you by the arm

To choose a partner for the dance—

It makes you get quite warm.

You have to bow and look polite,

And ask with a grimace

The pleasure of the next quadrille,

And slouch into your place.

He always picks out girls you hate,

I really don't know why,

And when you look across the room

It almost makes you cry

To see the girl you would have picked

Dance with another boy

Without a single smile for you,

Determined to annoy.

Your heart beats very loud and quick,

Your breath comes very fast,

You pinch your partner in the chain—

But dances end at last.

You think you will not look at her,

You look the other way;

Yet when she beckons with her fan,

You instantly obey.

How quick the evening gallops by

And eight o'clock comes soon,

But not till you've arranged to meet

To-morrow afternoon.

MY SISTER AT A PARTY

I HEAR the piano, the party's begun;
Hurry up! hurry up! there is going to be fun.
Leave your wrap in the hall and tie up your shoes,
There isn't a moment, a moment to lose.
Take a peep at the dining-room as you go by,
Lemonade, claret cup, orange wine you will spy:
And they're going to have two sorts of ices this year,
Both strawberry-cream and vanilla, I hear.
Twelve dances are down on the programme, I see.
Oh, do up your gloves, she is waiting for me!
I hear the piano, the polka's begun!
Oh, why does your beastly old sash come undone!
That's right, are your ready? now don't you forget
To say how d'ye do and express your regret
That Miss Perkins[B] is laid up in bed with a cold—
It isn't my place—just you do as you're told.
I say, look at Frank,[C] he's behaving as though
He was playing with cads in a field full of snow;
He's sliding about on the slippery floor
All over the room with the kid from next door.
It's a jolly good thing that Miss Perkins' in bed,
They'll probably send old Eliza[D] instead.
When we hear that she's come, we'll just not attend,
Or tell her we never go home till the end.
They give all the maids when they come, orange wine—
I say, do you think I might ask her for nine.
All right, only don't say I danced more than twice;
If you do, I'll say you have had more than one ice.
Mother said that you could? She said one of each?
You'd better look out or I'll jolly well peach.
You don't care if I do? All right, just you wait!
You'll tell Mrs. Jones we were not to be late?
I'm not pinching at all, you beastly young sneak!
You won't follow me round when we play hide and seek!
There's Dorothy![E] Pax! You can eat what you like,
And to-morrow I'll give you a ride on my bike.

Miss Perkins is our governess
[B]

He's my brother
[C]

Eliza is our housemaid
[D]

She's an awfully decent girl I know.
[E]

KISSING GAMES

POSTMAN'S Knock! Postman's Knock!
A letter for the girl next door,
And two pence, please, to pay.

Kiss in the Ring! Kiss in the Ring!
She's fallen down upon the floor,
I don't know what to say.

Postman's Knock! Postman's Knock!
I wish that I had asked for more;
At games you must obey.

Kiss in the Ring! Kiss in the Ring!
When running after her I tore
Her frock the other day.

Postman's Knock! Postman's Knock!
A letter for the girl next door,
And a shilling she must pay.[F]

BALLAD OF THE ROUND POND

THE Round Pond is a fine pond

With fine ships sailing there,

Cutters, yachts and men-o'-war,

And sailor-boys everywhere.

Paper boats they hug the shore,

And row-boats move with string

But cutters, yachts and larger ships

Sail on like anything.

But she didn't.
[F]

THE ROUND POND

THE ROUND POND

It was the schooner Kensington,

Set out one Saturday:

The wind was blowing from the east,

The sky was cold and grey.

Her crew stood on the quarter-deck

And stared across the sea,

With two brass cannon in the stern

For the Royal Artillery.

The Royal Tin Artillery

Had faced the sea before,

They had fallen in the bath one night

And heard the waste-plug roar.

They were rescued by the nursery maid

And put on the ledge to dry;

And they looked more like the Volunteers

Than the Royal Artillery.

For the blue had all come off their clothes,

And they afterwards wore grey;

But they stood by the cannon like Marines

That famous Saturday.

The crew of the schooner Kensington

Were Dutchmen to a man,

With wooden legs and painted eyes;

But the Captain he was bran.

His blood was of the brownest bran

And his clothes were full of tucks;

But he fell in the sea half-way across,

And was eaten up by ducks.

We launched the boat at half-past three,

And stood on the bank to watch,

And some friends of mine who were fishing there
Had a wonderful minnow-catch.

Fifteen minnows were caught at once

In an ancient ginger jar,

When a shout went up that the Kensington

Was heeling over too far.

Too far for a five-and-sixpenny ship

That was warranted not to upset;

But she righted herself in half a tick

Though the crew got very wet.

The crew got very wet indeed;

The Artillery all fell down,

And lay on their backs for the rest of the voyage

For fear they were going to drown.

The schooner Kensington sailed on

Across the wild Round Pond,

And we ran along the gravel-bank

With a hook stuck into a wand.

A hook stuck into a wand to guide

The schooner safe ashore

To incandescent harbour lights

And a dock on the school-room floor.

But suddenly the wind dropped dead.

And a calm came over the sea,

And a terrible rumour got abroad

It was time to go home to tea.

We whistled loud, we whistled long,

The whole of that afternoon;

But there wasn't wind enough to float

A twopenny pink balloon.

And the other chaps upon the bank

Looked anxiously out to sea;

For their sweethearts and sisters were going home,

And they feared for the cake at tea.

. . . . . . .

It was the schooner Kensington

Came in at dead of night

With many another gallant ship

And one unlucky kite.

The keeper found them at break of day,

And locked them up quite dry

In his little green hut, with a notice that

On Monday we must apply.

So on Sunday after church we went

To stare at them through the door;

And we saw the schooner Kensington

Keel upwards on the floor.

But though we stood on the tips of our toes,

And craned our necks to see,

We could not spot the wooden-legged crew
Or the Royal Artillery.

TOWN AND COUNTRY

THEY say that country children have

Most fierce adventures every night,

With owls and bats and giant moths

That flutter to the candle-light.

They say that country children search

For earwigs underneath the sheets,

That creeping animals abound

Upon the wooden window-seats.

They say that country children wash

Their hands in water full of things,

Tadpoles and newts and wriggling eels,

Until their hands are pink with stings.

But this I know, that if they slept

Far, far away from owls and bats,

Their hearts would thump tremendously

To hear outside two fighting cats.

Two cats that surely must come through

The inky window-pane and jump,

With gleaming eyes, upon my bed—

Ah, then indeed their hearts would thump.

POOR LAVENDER GIRLS

LAVENDER, lavender!

Summer's in town!

Blue skies and marguerites,

Mother's new gown!

Lavender, lavender!

Summer's in town!

Blue seas and yellow sands,

Children have flown.

Lavender, lavender!

Bunchy and sweet!

No one wants lavender

All down our street.

Lavender girls in London never learn to play,
Give them a penny, a penny before you go away.

GOOD-NIGHT

GOOD-NIGHT

SUMMER HOLIDAYS

WHEN I was small and went to bed

Before the sun went down,

My cot was woven out of gold

Like a princess's gown.

And in the garden every night,

I used to hear the birds,

And from the people on the lawn

A pleasant sound of words.

The garden was quite full of pinks

Whose smell came blowing in

Through windows open very wide

Where gnats would dance and spin.

And as I lay in my cool cot,

I'd think of daylight hours,

Poppies and ox-eyed daisies white,

And all the roadside flowers

Now lifting up their drooping heads

In the long-shadow time;

I'd listen for my mother's step

The narrow stairs to climb.

And as she bent to say good-night

And heard me say my prayer,

She seemed a bit of mignonette,

She was so sweet and fair.

And just as I was dozing off,

I'd hear some jolly talk

Of aunts and uncles setting out

To take their supper-walk.

I'd hear their voices die away

In the green curly lane;

But I was always fast asleep

When they came back again.

THE UNPLEASANT MOON

THE moon is not much use to me,

She rises far too late:

I'm fonder of the friendly fire

That crackles in the grate.

But when I wake up in the night

And find the fire asleep,

His ashes make a horrid noise

And mice begin to creep.

And then the moon crawls in between

The curtains and the floor,

And when I turn my face away,

She's crawling round the door.

Oh, then I wish she was the fire,

I like his light the most;

He does not give the furniture

A sort of shaking ghost.

I hide my head beneath the clothes

And shut my eyes up tight,

And then I see queer dancing wheels

And spots of coloured light.

They do not comfort me at all,

But pass the time away

Until I hear the milkman's can

And know that it is day.

SUGGESTIONS ABOUT SLEEP

I'VE heard it said that the dustman

Is responsible for our sleep,

That he puts a pinch of dust in our eyes

When the stars begin to peep.

If this is true it would quite explain

The horrible dreams that come,

For the dustman looks a rough sort of chap,

And his cart smells awfully rum.